


Help Me Survive Here

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Season 3 Spoilers, Season 4 Spoilers, mention of Hell, mention of sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Survive Here

VI.

‘Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas, I’m behavin’ like a four-year-old here, Cas – if I say your name a dozen times in a row, Cas, do you have to show up, Cas, ‘cause I’d really like to talk to you, Cas.’ Dean thinks it’s a good thing he didn’t get drunk earlier in the evening because otherwise he’d never be able to repeat Castiel’s name this many times without fumbling it.

He’s walking in aimless circles in Bobby’s back field – the one that isn’t ditch to ditch rustbuckets.

This field reminds him of the one at that motel in East Overshoe, Idaho. The key difference is that now it’s about eleven o’clock at night. The stars are out overhead, clear and warm. The air is heavy, a little damp – the threat of a thunderstorm not far off. If he squints at the far horizon, he can see dark clouds building steadily, blocking out the stars. There’s a line of trees a few hundred yards away and he knows that somewhere in that direction there’s a small rivulet of water working its way down to the larger river about ten miles away. He remembers going down there as a teenager when his dad and Bobby were involved in some terminally dull research project. He remembers tossing rocks into the water and toying with the idea of building a miniature dam.

‘Cas. Cas – Castiel. What the hell kind of naming scheme does God have going anyway? All you guys have to end in ‘eel’? Castiel, Gabriel, Uriel--’ He gets a real adolescent satisfaction out of mispronouncing _that_ bastard’s name. ‘What’s up with that, right, Cas? And, hey, Cas, does it drive you crazy that half the world pronounces it ‘eel’ and the rest of us ‘yel’? That’s gotta get annoying, right, Cas?’

He continues strolling in slow circles, staring up at the sky some of the time as if Cas might make his presence known with a shooting star or a shadow over the moon or something else hokey and horror-movie-esque. The clouds on the horizon are looming larger now and he swears he hears a faint rumble of thunder.

‘Maybe that’s why I started calling you Cas –‘ He stops and sighs. ‘Hell, no, it wasn’t. It was to try to drive you crazy, Cas – but it never worked, did it? You stood there and looked at me, Cas – fuck, will you get your ass down here _now_ so I can explain?’ He throws his head back, shouting at the still cloudless sky above him, arms wide. ‘This is _me_ , Cas, offering to _explain_ something – treasure the fucking moment, you feathery dick, and get _down_ here!’

And here he is, standing in a field, bellowing at the sky. Great. Another classic moment in the glamorous life of Dean Winchester.

The field remains silent and angel-free. Not the faintest flicker of a trench coat anywhere.

Dean throws up his hands. ‘What do you want me to say, dude? I thought you _knew_ – you _said_ you knew everything about me! How the hell was I supposed to guess this was the _one_ thing you didn’t friggin’ well know?’

‘I know what you are capable of. I know what kind of man you are. I know what you can do when you are tested. I do not know what you had for breakfast on your twelfth birthday.’

‘Potato chips, probably,’ Dean says before spinning around, fully prepared to tackle Cas if need be to keep him in one place long enough.

And he can’t believe he just thought that – he is so eager to have a touchy-feely, girl-on-girl-and-not-in-the-good-way conversation that he wants to pin the guy to the ground to make sure it happens. Something really must have put the whammy on him. The only problem with his usual reaction to that is that the something in question is currently standing in front of him.

Cas is a pale blotch in the larger darkness. As he moves slightly, uneasily, as Dean turns towards him, Dean can almost make out his features...but not quite.

‘What do you want, Dean.’ His voice is calm, almost flat. ‘You are not in danger. There is no threat here. Why did you call me.’

‘Because I fucked things up and I wanted to say sorry.’

‘Fine.’ There’s a faint sound of wind moving and, before he can think, Dean tackles Cas, knocking him to the ground and, by the sound of it, knocking the air out of him as well.

Castiel gasps in a breath, writhes against Dean’s hands on his shoulders, then gives up. ‘Dean, let me go.’

‘No.’ Dean settles himself more comfortably, perching on Castiel’s hips, one knee on either side of his ribcage, pinning him neatly to the ground. And he tries, mostly successfully, not to think about what he’s doing too much. Castiel is narrower than he looks; his hips are slimmer under the misleading bulk of the suit and coat.

‘What is the point of this?’

‘You were going to bug out before I got to talk.’

‘That was the wind in the trees. There is a storm coming!’ Cas tries again to throw him off but fails.

‘Oh. Well.’ Dean hesitates, thinks about moving, then thinks, _fuck it_. He crosses his arms over his chest. From what he can see of the smaller man, Castiel looks pissy but not really angry, his eyes sparking blue every now and then in the moonlight.

‘Get off me, Winchester.’

‘Make me.’ Dean smirks down at him, knowing that Cas won’t try for fear of hurting him. And focussing on being a wise-ass makes it easier _not_ to think about anything else: like the fact that if Cas doesn’t stop twisting around underneath him pretty damned soon, he’s going to start getting hard and that will just derail this whole conversation.

Cas is silent for a long minute and, Dean thinks, if he were human, if he were Sam, he’d be glowering up at Dean right now and plotting how to dump him on his ass in the most humiliating way possible. As it is, who knows what he’s thinking?

‘What do you want, Dean?’ He sounds resigned.

‘I want to know why you think I...’ His throat closes involuntarily and he feels the same rush of embarrassment he felt that afternoon with Sam. He clears his throat, swallows, tries again: ‘Why you think I don’t like guys.’

Silence.

‘I mean, seriously, Cas, c’mon. If you know what’s in my heart or whatever, then you’ve gotta’ve been watching me pretty close, right? So you must’ve seen--’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would be...improper.’

‘Improper? You’re kidding me.’

A slight rustle in the grass and Dean guesses Cas is shaking his head.

‘So...what, you watch humanity for millenia but you bleep the good bits?’

‘Only me. Only for you. It did not seem...right. To watch you so...closely and then ask you to do so much.’

‘Even a warrior of God gets his alone time, huh?’

No answer this time.

Dean sighs and pushes himself to his feet, reaching down and wordlessly offering to haul Castiel up, too. The angel stands without comment, not touching Dean’s hands. ‘Cas – you saw me in Hell. You _watched_ \--’

‘That was not your own volition! Alastair--’ Dean had no idea anyone else could say that name with more venom than he could, but Castiel managed it. ‘-- and his _pets_ – it was not right! You would not have chosen that!’

‘I...what?’ Dean blinks, tries to focus Cas in the shifting moonlight. Clouds are starting to chase over the moon now, moving faster, and he can hear the wind rising in the trees.

Castiel doesn’t answer for a moment. ‘In the pit. Is...is that not what you meant?’

‘I meant what _I_ did...I meant...what the hell do _you_ mean?’

Castiel is silent.

‘Cas?’

Still silence. The angel might as well have vanished again. He stands stock-still in the dimming light, the trenchcoat flapping and twisting around his legs.

‘Cas?’

‘I...cannot...’ Castiel sounds strangled, as if the words are working their way out past a twist in his throat. ‘I...do not want...if you do not remember...’

‘Don’t remember _what?_ What the hell else did I do, Cas?’ Fuck, he remembers so much – he remembers the blood and the screams and the heat and the knives and the burning irons and the rack—what the hell else can there be? He has the damned Spanish Inquisition in his head. Christ, how much worse can it get?

‘You...did nothing.’

‘Fuck that – I _know_ what I did!’ He glares at Castiel. ‘And you’re not talkin’ about that. I want to know what the hell--’

‘It is what was done to you, Dean.’

‘What?’

‘Alastair...let his...pets...play...with you.’ Castiel grinds out the words through his teeth.

‘His...’ For one manic second, Dean has a vision of kittens bounding across a fluffy carpet chasing a ball. Then that vanishes and is replaced by something much clearer and much worse. Remembered pain sears through his body, making him choke in his next breath. ‘Oh...Christ, Cas...’

‘Dean, I am sorry – I am so – I thought – I would have done anything--’ Castiel steps towards him, catches his arms as Dean stumbles and starts to fall, nearly retching. ‘Oh, Dean...’

Dean can’t really hear Castiel’s voice. It’s lost in the deep bass buzz of blood in his ears and the burn of pain in his body. Every muscle is suddenly on fire and he wants to start screaming, but if he starts he knows he won’t be able to stop. He can feel himself crying, feels the dampness on his cheeks, and feels a sob he can’t repress coming up his throat. If he lets it out, he knows, he is _sure_ , he will break. He will shatter into a thousand pieces and never, never come together again. He digs his fingers into Castiel’s shoulder, biting his teeth together, willing himself to stay in one piece.

‘Listen to me, Dean. You are not there any more. The pit is a memory – nothing more. It cannot harm you – I brought you out of that place. You will never go back.’

‘Jesus...one of them...’ Dean gasps in air, feeling his stomach roil and roll and he knows he can’t make it much longer. ‘...one of them tried to be Sam...’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Evil Angel," Breaking Benjamin, _Phobia_.


End file.
